


You And Me And The Devil Makes 3

by darknessvisible



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: BDSM, Ben Solo and Kylo Ren are different people but they look the same, Dominant Kylo Ren, F/M, Inspired by a prompt, Kylo Ren & Ben Solo are Different People, Possessive Sex, Rebel Rey, Rey Needs A Hug, Sexual Tension, Virgin Ben Solo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-26 14:28:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20743721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darknessvisible/pseuds/darknessvisible
Summary: inspired by a prompt from reylo_prompts on twitter, with a slight riff.Kylo Ren is the Devil, and he's looking for a new assistant. Rey is down on her luck and can't keep a job after Maz Kanata, her guardian, passes away. She applies for the position, not knowing what it entails. Ben Solo is Rey's childhood best friend who just wants what's best for her. When she starts a new job with a creepy boss that keeps hitting on her, Ben decides it's time to let Rey know how he really feels, and in the process get to the bottom of who this Kylo Ren guy really is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [ here is the original prompt: "Kylo is the Devil, and he's looking for a new assistant. Rey's desperate for money and has never really been particularly pious, so she applies. She didn't expect him to be so attractive. And she didn't expect him to have an office in New York." from reylo_prompts on twitter!
> 
> this fic will hopefully be 10 or so chapters long. i have some fun ideas for our messy bbys. feedback!!! give me the feedback!!!! tell me all the things so that i may feed on your words and, in doing so, produce some more of my own xD 
> 
> p.s. this fic is titled after a Marilyn Manson song, though i have never listened to it! ]

“_Janet, be a doll will you and fetch me some coffee_?”

The sultry voice of Kylo Ren floated above the office noise. He sat at a long, marbled desk, his crisp black suit accented by red silk down the lapel. When he stood, the train of his jacket revealed the interior - also red silk - seamed down to insulting perfection, not a crease in sight. Hair pulled back by some invisible force, its thickness only countered by its fiery black shade, as though it might be burning onyx. 

He adjusted the cuff of his white linen shirt, standing as he did so. Janet was always _ so slow _ and he’d given her _ so many chances _ but the vapid blond didn’t seem to retain information for more than forty-eight hours. A common frustration Kylo had been having with his recent hires. They called themselves 'millennials’, which, to someone who had _ actually _ been around for millennia, seemed a bit presumptuous and self centered. 

The coffee wasn’t coming. Kylo sighed, wary of what he’d have to do next. He placed a cool, pale hand against his temple and tapped it a few times, like the ticking hand of a clock approaching its hour.

“_ Jaaaanet _,” he said her name in a sing song way, not waiting for her to rush back into the office. “I can only teach you basic tasks so many times.” 

With that, he snapped his fingers, and the leggy blonde - who’d only just rushed into the room - burst into flames. 

Kylo wrinkled his nose, stepping over the ashes and lifting the hem of his suit jacket as he did so. 

“Karl,” he called out through the open door. “Do something about that, will you? I hate the stain it leaves after. It’s so _ gauche _.”

* * *

Rey Johnson held up a newspaper, squinting against the midday sun. Washington Park was bustling with the lunch crowd, leaving her little opportunity to _ think _ without some Chatty Kathy complaining loud enough for the next few blocks to hear. 

It was always the same white noise. Everyone hated their bosses, wanted a raise, slept with some guy who couldn’t make them cum, forgot to switch over the laundry this morning, the list went on. Rey groaned, shifting in the metal fold out chair provided to each round little cafe table the city placed along the park’s interior. 

She’d been scouring the ads for temp work, having just lost her third job this month. It wasn’t that Rey had no employable skills. Rather, that she lacked the most fundamental skill of all when it came to holding down a job: respecting authority. 

In fact, it wasn’t merely that she did not know how to respect it, she _ loathed _it. Ever since her days growing up on the east side of Brooklyn, in a cramped one-bedroom, her begrudging care-taker a Police Officer named Maz Kanata. 

They fought like wild animals, and if it weren’t for Maz’s threats to send her to a juvenile detention center, Rey might have never learned the skills she _ did _ have - those being lying and cheating and manipulating others. Maz made it necessary for Rey to create a version of herself that _ really cleaned up her act _. Good grades, good manners, cyclical displays of gratitude - these were Maz Kanata’s disengage buttons, and Rey found them fast. 

Unfortunately, in the real world, most people just fired you and went on with their day. No one cared about Rey. Maz had - in her own way - but she died a few months ago so that didn’t matter anymore.

Rey bit into a sandwich sloppily as she flattened the newspaper onto the table, no longer bothering to shield her face from the sun. It screwed up her expression into a blistering scowl - anyone who _ liked _ New York in the summer was a fucking idiot, Rey concluded. 

As she scanned the listings, discarding most of them as options considering she’d already gone through those temp agencies and burned many a bridge, only one listing seemed to fit the bill. 

“SEEKING: PERSONAL ASSISTANT. IMMEDIATE HIRE. CALL THIS NUMBER TO SET UP AN INTERVIEW: 212-666-0000”

Definitely sketchy, but it couldn’t be as bad as that one Craigslist cleaning job she showed up for and found the entire family naked, armed with vacuums, entirely too happy to see her. 

Rey shrugged, shoving the rest of her sandwich into her mouth and chomping it down as she folded up the newspaper and grabbed her bag, breaking into a small sprint as she crossed the street. She would call the number today, but first, she would drink a beer. 

* * *

One beer turned into five, which then turned into at least two more Irish Car Bombs because some fucking twat at the bar said he could drink her under the table and Rey Johnson has _ never _ ended the night under a table. 

Slamming the double-lined glass beer mug down onto the counter, she wiped her mouth and offered the man in question a cheeky grin. He was slumped down, held up only by the wooden lip of the bar top, and by Rey’s calculations that wouldn’t hold out much longer. He’d be under the table in five minutes. 

Which gave her just enough time to make that phone call she’d almost forgotten about. 

Smacking the man on the side of the head, Rey slurred her words, though she spoke with the confidence of a Very Sober Person,“Don’t you quit on me just yet.” 

She maneuvered her way through the crowd of drunk men, stumbling outside and almost dropping her phone as she tried to punch in the number. What was it again?

Her photographic memory replied smoothly, as though it were completely separate from this drunken fool wobbling outside. 212-666-0000. “Hah!” Rey hiccuped. “666! Like the Devil!” She spoke to no one in particular, though a group of bar-goers passed her by. 

She waited impatiently as it rang, unaware of the late hour. 

On the fourth ring, someone picked up. She could hear even breathing, but no words. 

“Hello?” She practically screamed into the phone. “Are you there? I’m calling about the ad in the paper.” 

A pause. Then, suddenly, the most seductive voice Rey had ever heard in her entire life bloomed on the other end of the line. It was low, gritty, hungering, but somehow restrained. It made her body tingle. 

“Yes, I’m looking for a--”

“Personal assistant yeah yeah yeah I can read.” Rey’s excitement at the sound of his voice, amplified by her lack of inhibition, caused her to barrel ahead. “Is this phone call the interview, or do you want me to… like… haul ass to Manhattan?” 

“How did you know I’m in Manhattan?” The voice snapped, though Rey could tell he was curious, if only a little miffed by her brazen attitude. Most people were. But Rey Johnson never met a person she didn’t know how to charm. 

“Oh, you know,” she dropped her own voice to match the sultry nature of his, “the language of immediacy, the timing - a weekend? Who posts a hiring ad on a Friday night? - your voice, groomed by manners but not afraid to get a little snippy, are you?” 

“You… discerned all of that.. from a single square ad in a paper, and a twenty second phone exchange?”

“Yeah,” Rey hiccuped, feeling her body sway a bit. That last Irish Car Bomb really _ was _ a bit much, she giggled to herself. “That, and your area code.” 

And with that, she clicked the phone, hanging up on the man with the sexiest voice she’d ever heard. 

Not one bit worried, either. He would call back. 

* * *

Kylo hadn’t been expecting to get a phone call so late at night. By this time he’d already had his evening bath drawn, gone through the endless (and I mean truly _ endless _) letters begging for so and so to be saved if only this and that could go a different way blah blah please take my soul in exchange for blah blah blah - a job usually meant for his assistant, though the last few didn’t even last long enough to get to this stage. 

When the phone rang, he was in the middle of enjoying a particularly rare cigar on his rooftop, the view overlooking the Hudson River - a skyline Kylo often found himself bored with. He’d seen so many empires rise and fall - stood on so many rooftop views like this, smoking cigars like this, watching humans desperately claw at some higher purpose for their lives - that it all started to become rather monotone. 

He took one last puff of the cigar before pulling out his phone, letting it ring a bit. 

At first he did not speak. It was bad manners to invite people in. Rule number one of being The Devil Himself; let them come to you first. 

“_H_ _ ello _ ? _ Are you there? I’m calling about the ad in the paper. _”

Ah, a drunk young woman. A poor prospect, but at least he might have some fun. “Yes, I’m looking for a--”

“_ Personal assistant yeah yeah yeah I can read _ . _ Is this phone call the interview, or do you want me to… like… haul ass to Manhattan _?”

Kylo balked at this. He was a bit - well - caught off guard wouldn’t be right, the Devil is impervious to surprises - but he was ruffled by her dismissive tone. Most people trembled when they spoke to him - and that wasn’t even counting his associates that actually _ knew _ his identity. His cigar gave off a twirl of smoke, momentarily blocking Kylo’s view of the city skyline. 

He wanted to have a bit of fun with her. “How did you know I’m in Manhattan?” Fully expecting an incoherent reply. The woman was barely holding her sentences together, after all. 

“_ Oh, you know, the language of immediacy, the timing - a weekend? Who posts a hiring ad on a Friday night? - your voice, groomed by manners but not afraid to get a little snippy, are you? _”

Kylo nearly dropped the cigar. She was a _ bold _ type now, wasn’t she? And shrewd. She was milking him. He smiled at the realization, a bit of warm pride extended towards this drunk woman he did not know. 

“You… discerned all of that.. from a single square ad in a paper, and a twenty second phone exchange?” His even-toned question was capped by another puff of the cigar.

“_ Yeah. That, and your area code. _” 

_ There’s a good girl _ , Kylo smiled to himself as he took another indulgent puff. He began to say, “I’d like to see y--” but before he could finish, it was only the silence that regarded him. Had she _ hung up _? That little minx. 

Kylo smirked, putting out his cigar and heading back inside the penthouse apartment he lived in. Not his choice -- that smarmy bastard upstairs _ insisted _ on having Kylo within eyesight, and the Devil had refused to live on top of the tallest building in Manhattan so this was their little compromise. 

Centuries of compromises between these two, Kylo grew sick of it. But it was what it was. 

“Karl,” he sighed, summoning his other assistant - this one part demon and therefore much less disposable than Janet, though sadly not much more competent. Kylo tossed his phone at him, and the clumsy half-demon barely caught it. “Trace my last call. Bring her here to me.” He paused, inhaling the room. Karl had remembered to light the candles as he’d asked - a nice, woody, basil aroma. Kylo smiled sinisterly. 

“Now.”


	2. Mistaken Identity

Against her better judgment -- or, really, the judgment of anyone with half a brain -- Rey went back into the bar and continued to drink. She stuck to beer, which seemed like a healthy choice considering all of the men who offered to buy her shots after she _ did _, in fact, drink that twat under the table. But now that last call was rolling around and she couldn’t quite remember her own address, Rey knew it was time to call her roommate. 

Ben Solo was the world’s kindest, softest, most judgment-free teddy bear. The alcohol had her feeling_ particularly_ gushy about his friendship.

  
She pressed the auto-dial feature on her phone (something Ben set up for her months ago), and it called him directly. 

He answered on the second ring. “Rey, are you okay?” 

“Ha-hhoow do you know me s-*hiccup*so well? You are ththe best.” She giggled. 

“You...don’t remember where we live, do you?” He laughed softly, but Rey could hear the exhaustion in his voice. Had she woken him up?

Her guilt translated into silence. And then, tiny, drunken sniffles. 

“Oh _ no _, love” Ben’s voice grew frantic, knowing his best friend well enough to predict what was about to come out of her mouth. He called this, Stage Three Drunk Rey. “No no no no it’s okay, Rey, it’s okay.” 

Rey was now full on sobbing. “Youh’re sooooooo--you’hr such a good friend to meee and I’m juus a burh--burden.” 

“Rey. I’m on my way, just stay where you are.” 

“Hh-how do you know whehr I em?” 

“I turned on your snapchat location, you silly scavenger girl.” 

A nickname Ben had given her after she started stealing all of his sweatshirts. 

Rey choked back a sob, smiling stupidly at the memory of how soft his sweatshirts were and how she would climb into one as soon as they got home, maybe even snuggle up with Ben on the couch if she promised not to throw up. 

They stayed on the phone until Ben showed up, pulling his beat up ‘96 Chevy Lumina right up to the entrance of the bar. He put his hazards on and hurried out of the car, scooping Rey up just as she fell over, having launched herself off the brick building towards him. She giggled, collapsing in his hold. He was so strong yet so gentle with her. The alcohol amplified her interest in his muscles. 

“Beeeeeeen!” She shouted, much to the irritation of the bouncer, who was lingering outside the bar in order to make sure everyone left. “Wow,” she ran her hands along his forearms, “do you woh-work out?” 

Ben was clearly trying to hide a smile. He lifted her arm over his shoulder, gently tugging her towards the car. “Come on, that’s it. Slow and steady.” 

His broad chest was so warm, Rey considered falling asleep right then and there. As though he sensed her thoughts the moment they arrived, Ben opened the door with his free hand and nudged her, bringing his mouth down to whisper into her ear, through her hair, “there’s a spider on your shirt.” He grinned.

This jolted Rey awake. She flung herself into the car, swatting clumsily at her shirt. Ben chuckled, closing the door behind her, a familiar feeling of desire purring in his chest. It was in Rey’s clumsiest, most awkward, most vulnerable moments that Ben Solo knew beyond any doubt that he loved her completely and would forever. 

As he climbed back into the car, his large knees barely fitting in the Lumina’s front seat--which was basically a bench, no center console separating the driver’s side from the passenger--Rey draped herself across his lap and gurgled out, “Youh’re my best friend.” 

And it was in these very same moments that Ben Solo wondered if he would ever tell her how he felt. 

Xxxxxxxxxx

  
  
Ben had finally tamed the very drunk Rey, easing her down onto the couch as she buried her face into his sweatshirt - one she’d swiped the moment they got home. She was too drunk to stand on her own but she had no problem rifling through his stuff and finding her favorite hoodie to steal. It was Ben’s high school rugby team’s logo, a black cotton that rested a bit narrow on him but was practically swallowing Rey. 

Just as he’d lulled her to sleep, a loud, awkward knock came from the door. 

Assuming it was the next door neighbor -- Mr. Plunkett, a man who loved to complain about noise -- Ben groaned and reluctantly dragged himself to the door. Rey was pleasantly snuggled up against one of their nicer throw pillows. 

“Sorry, Mr. Plunkett, we were just--” Ben began, opening the door, but to his surprise Mr. Plunkett was nowhere in sight. 

Instead, he was greeted by an odd looking fellow. The moment he saw Ben’s face, the strange man started howling, bowing his head aggressively. 

“Master! Master I am so sorry. I thought you told me to bring the girl to you. Please, Master. I aim to please you.” 

Ben blinked. “Uhh… can I help you?” 

“Master, Karl is so sorry. So sorry. I will listen next time. Please do not poof me, Master. Please, oh please.” The man squeaked, his eyes traveling past the doorway to Rey’s sleeping silhouette. “I will bring her to your quarters now, Master.” He started to advance, causing Ben to step forward and block the doorway. 

_ Poof you? _ Ben’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Hey man, I don’t know what you’re talking about but I’d like you to leave.” He tried to be polite -- the only Solo child was well aware of how intimidating he could be to most people, and tried his best not to come off as a threat -- but this man was eyeing Rey and calling him Master. Even for New York City, this was weird. 

“Let me make it up to you, Master. I can carry her on my back, all the way there, you--” 

“Who’s that?” Rey’s voice traveled from the couch, her eyes still half shut. “Is that the pizza?” They hadn’t ordered any pizza. She stood, wobbling a bit, and stumbled over to the door. “Where’s the pizza?” She regarded the strange man’s empty hands. 

“Oooookay,” Ben placed a hand on Rey’s shoulder, deliberately stepping in front of her so as to block her from moving any closer to this weirdo at their door. “You need to leave, buddy, or I’m calling the police.” 

The man squeaked again, “Master! I do not understand.” 

“_S__top calling me Master _.” Ben muttered, his patience beginning to wear. 

Rey leaned forward, scrunching up her nose as she sized up the man. “Hey,” she raised a finger at him, pointing unsteadily. Without another word, she vomited right onto his shoes. 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Kylo Ren didn’t need much sleep. Partly the curse of his fallen state. Though most human lore didn’t know this, sleep was a gift given to angels. It was a time of peace, of reconciliation, of joy, of solitude, of love. 

_ He _ hadn’t let Kylo have a proper night’s sleep in centuries, though over time the devil had found other means to sedate himself. Alcohol, drugs, all sorts of neat inventions these little humans came up with. It worked, up to a point, but the insomnia always found him again. 

Kylo had been waiting, draped across one of the two dark red chaise lounge sofas in his master bedroom, when Stan, his idiotic minion, stumbled into the room. He reeked of vomit. The girl was nowhere in sight. 

Swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand, Kylo sighed irritably. “Stanley." He often called him whatever name he felt like. "What took you so long?”

“But my Lord,” the half demon started, “you were with the girl already!”

Putting the tumblr down, Kylo stood to his full height. It was _ so hard _ getting decent help. Knowing Stan, he had probably bumped his head somewhere and passed out for a few hours in a pool of his own vomit. It wouldn’t be the first time he completely and utterly failed at a simple task. 

“You are a complete fool, and if I hadn’t promised your father I would make good use of you, I would poof you right now.” 

With a quick wave, Stan was thrown out of the room. 

Kylo began to pace, his black and red robe jacket glistening in the moonlight that spilled into the room from the wide, marble balcony. “I suppose I’ll have to go fetch her myself.”


End file.
